


Backgrounds

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [4]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: 1840s London, Belonging, British Class System, Friendship, Gen, Philanthropy, Redemption, Servants, victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: Better the devil you know...-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton! He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!
Series: A New Start [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Backgrounds

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the wonderfully patient and knowledgeable CookehCrumbla! Big Thanks to them for all their help :0)

Mr Turton's curiosity was piqued; he desperately wanted to know. It gnawed at him that he didn't, but he couldn’t outright ask. _Can I?_

_Maybe I can, instead, engage Mrs Brown in subtle conversation and see if I can wheedle the information out of her?_ _But she doesn’t exactly do 'subtle'. Her speciality is loud, forthrightness, and excruciatingly lewd double entendres. Not exactly subtle in any way, shape, or form. Maybe I can use my authority over her? I am her superior after all. I can simply demand to know!_

Decision made, he strode into the kitchen, Mrs Brown's domain, intent on confronting her. He checked that Daisy was elsewhere and not lurking in the pantry as was her want. He stood in front of the annoyingly cheerful woman as she fussed over the tea service in the servants’ dining room. He pulled himself up to his full height, puffed his chest out, pushed his shoulders back, and clasped his hands tightly behind his back as he offered Mrs Brown his best authoritative stance.

All his perfectly performed protocol was completely undone by her raucous cackling.

"Well now, Mr Turton! What has you standing here in front of me like a poncey old sergeant major? One who is about to reprimand the poor buggering recruits, what are all lined up in front of him on the parade ground. You need to pull that stick out of your arse, or you'll not be able to sit down for this lovely piece of fruit sponge what I've just made."

Mr Turton sagged.

Mrs Brown grinned triumphantly and pointed her hand, motioning for him to sit in the chair opposite her while she poured a cup of tea for him.

He sipped his tea and re-calculated. _I need to try a different tactic with this one._ _She seems to always know how to out-manoeuvre me. Maybe the best way was to just outright ask her?_

"So…” he started, "Mrs Morgan mentioned that all her staff had, er, what she referred to as 'a background'?" _There!_ He'd laid all his cards out in front of her and now he waited on her move.

She silently cut the fruitcake, offering him a piece before sitting back and taking a large bite out of her slice. She chewed and swallowed, giving him an amused look, all the while making him wait.

"Hah!" Mrs Brown snorted, "I was wondering when your curiosity would get the better of you, Mr Turton!" she chuckled.

_What?_ The hand holding his slice of cake paused halfway up to his mouth. A piece fell off, plopping onto his plate. He frowned at its cowardly act. _Is there nothing this wretched woman couldn't deduce?_ He placed the remnants of the cake, the piece that hadn't run away from him like a craven, back onto his plate. He brushed his fingers free of any crumbs and gathered his full 'butlery' self back together again.

"Well… it's my job to know about everything going on in this household, Mrs Brown. I can't very well run this place properly if there are pieces missing that I've not taken into account," he said, hopefully projecting sufficient authority.

"True. Very true, Mr Turton," she agreed. He tried not to look too pleased with himself at her actually _agreeing_ with him.

"Well now, since I know all about you, Mr Turton, it’s only fair that I tell you about my prior life.”

Mr Turton leant forwards curiously. _Ah, here we go._

“My old man owned a large public house in Pimlico, next to the river. It passed on to me when he, unfortunately, fell into the river one night,” she drank a mouthful of tea, then continued. “Such a shame that he never learnt to swim,” she sighed. _A tad theatrically,_ Mr Turton thought as he nibbled at his cake. _She doesn’t seem exceptionally upset at the loss of her husband._

"With him out of the way, I diversified into other um… lucrative business opportunities, shall we say?"

"Business opportunities, Mrs Brown?"

"Yes, you know, the usual," she waved her hand. "Having a property by the riverside makes for an extremely handy location to offload items that had, mayhaps, possibly, not gone through the usual channels. Also," she added, "not all things people would pay handsomely for were the usual goods and chattels," she looked directly at him now. "As you well know, Mr Turton, people will pay a pretty sum for certain pieces of choice information."

Mr Turton really did not want to be reminded of that particularly irritating mistake of his. He placed his hands down onto his lap, moving them under the table to hide the fact that his fists tightened, turning his knuckles white. His brow became deeply furrowed. His teeth gritted. His lips puckered as if he had just eaten an extremely sour grape. His eyes narrowed as if he was looking for the fastest escape route from a choir of tone-deaf carollers. To call him vexed would have been an understatement of the most extreme kind!

Mrs Brown laughed heartily, enjoying his discomfort. _Wretched woman!_

"So… " Mr Turton said stonily. He did not enjoy her amusement at his expense. He wished to hastily move the subject away from one he was uncomfortable about. So he continued on with his questioning. "I'm assuming that your er… business dealings were fairly lucrative?"

”They were. Very much so,” she answered.

His fists unclenched slowly as he relaxed again. He breathed out and placed them flat on the table in front of him. "What are you doing here then?" he asked with a perplexed look about his face.

"Ah well… let's just say that others in the area didn't take kindly to me cutting their profit margins by taking some of their business away," she fidgeted with her tea cup. "My premises 'mysteriously' burned to the ground, and some incriminating evidence ended up in the hands of the peelers." She paused. "I had to use the sum of my savings to bail myself out of jail," she added angrily.

"I had to start all over again. The missus found my stall in Borough Market and offered me a position here on the strength of my pies and cakes. The rest is as you see here," she spread her arms wide, indicating her current domain.

"You do bake an exceptionally good cake, Mrs Brown," Mr Turton added, not entirely sure what to say to her after hearing her tale of woe.

Now he knew how she had become acquainted with such types as her objectionable, but somewhat useful, 'associates'. He'd seen several unsavory types loitering outside the house previously. He'd stopped one young lad, asking him what he was doing here. His answer had been a piece of folded paper thrust into his hands and accompanied by a whispered voice that asked him to pass it onto Mrs Brown. When he'd looked up from the note to ask the wretch what he meant by all this, the rogue had already melted away into the crowd.

"Now then," Mrs Brown continued, "you'll have to speak to Mr and Mrs Jones themselves for their full details. But they won't mind me telling you that they were the very best fencers of maybe not the most legally acquired goods this side of the river," she winked. "They can still procure anything as long as it's not too illegal and you don't look too closely," she tapped the side of her nose.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mrs Brown," he replied.

"Oh, and best not to ask young Daisy anything. The poor chit isn't the best, mentally, when reminded of that life." Mrs Brown leant forwards towards him, and lowered her voice, "she was used most horribly from a very young age, if you knows what I mean. I rescued her myself from a house near my old pub. I brought her into my employ there, and again with me to the missus's employ." She sat back again. "If you ever need a knife sharpening to within an inch of its life, just ask Daisy. She's a right dab hand at that. She learnt the hard way how a sharp blade is a most useful tool to protect yourself with."

Mrs Brown set her tea cup back down on the table as the three others who made up the household staff filtered into their dining room for their afternoon tea.

"I think that's everything covered, don't you, Mr Turton?"

"Most thoroughly, Mrs Brown. Thank you kindly."

He wasn't entirely certain if he felt better now that his curiosity was satisfied. But better the devil you know, and all that…


End file.
